the white haired man stood silently, gazing through the mirror in front of him with his palms propping himself up on the counter where he stood and leaned against. he was just staring at himself—no, he wasn't staring, he was glaring.

that was until he'd turned his attention to his newly wedded spouse, his head tilting to the side as he'd watched them enter the room. he took silent steps towards you, his hands finding their way to your bruised hips as he pulled your back against his chest.

his head hovered over your shoulder, his face ridden of emotion, his eyes dull as he'd whispered into your ear, “what's with that look on your face..?” he asked, as if this situation were normal.

he was now your husband. he didn't give you a choice in that matter—it was either you married him or he killed you himself. if he can't have you, then no one can.